Immortal Wyntre
by lace-with-grace
Summary: Vampire: Masquerade based fiction. The Arcanum is suffering, tormented by a Clan Ventrue Vampire who's true intentions remain unknown & failing under the pressure of the legendary Inquisition. Terry Roget is bitter and resentful of his scholarly brothers.
1. Prologue

Note and Disclaimer:  
  
All the main characters of this story are my own, but it is based on the sheet role play Vampire: Masquerade that has spawned many novels following the different clans. For once I'm going to write about vampires that aren't Ann Rice's, although the Arcanum of V:M is very much like her Talamasca.  
  
I would also like to thank Wyntre de Romanov who, for those of you who haven't noticed, gave me the inspiration for the title and has given me endless encouragement to continue creating fanfictions.  
  
I don't usually write serious fiction so I would be grateful for your reviews, and I hope you find this entertaining and enjoy it enough to read the following chapters. Thank you.  
  
  
  
Immortal Wyntre  
  
Prologue:  
  
January 1998  
  
3:25 am  
  
Terry Roget had been waiting for this opportunity since he joined the Organisation. He was a short man with a muscular figure of thirty-three. He possessed a shock of red hair gelled against his scalp and an immature teenage grin displayed with a small goatee.  
  
Somewhere in the immense old house a clock chimed. He slowly made his way along the deserted corridor and down the grand staircase of the old Victorian structure that served as the headquarters with all its grandeur. No one was awake to stop him, thankfully, for he wasn't sure what he would do if some were to wake. He crossed the main hallway into one of the many side corridors through beautifully carved oak doors. The smell of polish was powerful, that day had been one of the days in the month the huge house was 'blitz cleaned'. He was closer now as he headed down a smaller stair well to the basement level. Oh how long he had desired this!  
  
He believed he'd been born lucky, he'd completed school with three passes in computer studies, graphic design and business studies, fully equipping him for the market world.  
  
But was this the world he wanted to enter?  
  
No, it was not.  
  
He didn't want a world where he had start at the bottom and struggle to fight his way up, it was slow and painful, even as a boy he had never had a job and was fortunate enough to be able to rely completely on his parents for income.  
  
It was by accident that he stumbled upon the Organisation when he was only twenty. He'd finished school just two years ago and had been at work in the finance section of a large company, hoping this would be where he'd make the 'big' money. It had seemed everyday was a chore and he spent all his time wishing for the end of his shift so he could leave his office - which he shared with a horde of other people - and go home. It was in his second year that they moved the finance department to an older building that had been an armament manufacturing plant once during the Second World War. They had only been settled in the old place for a month or so when strange rumours and stories began to spread of a haunted room at the far end of the converted factory.  
  
The room of the sightings happened to be board room, and the stories were taken with great seriousness as the board meetings began to be held in any other available space, anywhere but the most appropriate place. There was tell that during one meeting an angry man appeared in the corner and stood staring until he had the attention of all those present.  
  
That was how it started.  
  
He would appeared every now and then and fade in front of everyone; sometimes he would seem to disperse into small swirling particles disturbing the loose papers. Unfortunately things didn't stop with just a few sheets of paper being blown around, they intensified over time. The light bulbs in the room were constantly blowing with such force it was common that the fragile glass shatter and the company went through an unusual number of maintenance groups, of which none could find the cause of the problem. It was found that no computer would work within the room, or any other item of technology for that matter. Mobile phones died completely, radios were silenced and projectors stubbornly refused to co- operate.  
  
A fortnight later things began to get dangerous as objects were hurled across the room with amazing force and chairs shook with the assembly still in them. The final line was drawn when the huge mahogany table was lifted into the air, spun, flipped and dropped over turned. The room was abandoned and the strange happenings were left along with it. By this time reporters were approaching many of the employees as word of the haunting was getting out, and these reporters were offering a good sum of money for an actual account of the supernatural goings on.  
  
But it wasn't a reporter that approached Terry; his luck brought to him a field agent of the Arcanum.  
  
"Good evening Mr Roget." The young man had called out to him one night when he was leaving work. This was his first encounter with the Organisation, and he hadn't even told this young man his name yet! Now ever since Terry could remember he'd been able to 'sense' people's emotions, just lift passing pieces off the wind, it wasn't deliberate and he didn't even realise other people couldn't do the same until he was in middle school. But now he caught a feeling of complete sincerity from this stranger who somehow knew his name. The young man left him disarmed and open with one of his broad smiles.  
  
"Yes that's right." He had said to Terry, there was an accent to his voice, but having never travelled Terry couldn't place its origin.  
  
"What is?" Terry had asked stupidly before it hit him. This stranger was reading his mind!  
  
"That I am, but you don't have to worry its just the surface thoughts, nothing more." Another man who had an Asian look to him joined the stranger, but he got the same sense of sincerity. Terry could only stand there, rooted as if he were a sapling about to be ripped up by realisation, I mean what could he say to a mind reader?  
  
"Well actually there's a fair bit I would like to hear from you, if you wouldn't mind."  
  
This was incredible and excitement seemed to clutch his heart in an instant. He knew he would help regardless of his better judgement. The two strangers were enticingly dressed in formal wear and the dark haired mind reader introduced himself as Frances Harlyn and the Asian looking man as Dominic Steaply. They offered to take Terry out for an evening meal, and swept up by everything he gladly agreed. These two men apparently had an abundance of money as the three of them climbed into a chauffeur driven limousine with leather interior and bar and they ate in one of the most expensive restaurants.  
  
It was here that Terry learnt of the Arcanum. The two men took turns in explaining, very pleasantly, that they were from an Organisation of 'psychic detectives' responsible for investigating the paranormal and collecting data to maintain records for the study of such strange phenomenon as the ghost in the old factory. It became clear that Frances was the experienced one in the field, despite his youthful appearance he was actually in his thirties. Dominic was in some ways an apprentice; new to this area and busy learning as much as he could from his companion and the things they experienced together. They told of how before coming here they had been in Germany confronted with a child ghost, lost and confused and how they help these lost souls, after all it was there job. They had been all over the world, and all the expenses of their travels, and their lives, had been covered by the Arcanum.  
  
Terry felt a pinch of envy, but soon dismissed it as they continued to explain how they hold no beliefs in religion and remained open minded and clear seeing in their investigations to better conduct their observations. They apparently had open arms for those with paranormal powers such as Terry, mild as his power was. People possessing stronger abilities were sometimes offered membership and those lucky enough for this were looked after their whole lives in this career, in return for their full devotion, loyalty and complete obedience of the rules, which they assured him, were for the safety of its members. All initiates were trained in field investigations from one of the Headquarters and paired with an experienced detective until deemed ready to go out on their own. Once they were no longer novices they could remain at the Headquarters or branch out and set up their own 'business', receiving instructions from the top and taking occasional employment in paranormal cases, they were there to watch, record and help.  
  
This all seemed just too much and Terry had laughed, rudely, but he just couldn't help himself. This did not surprise both men and Dominic performed what must have been a well-used parlour trick. Terry watched as his full wineglass levitated and danced back and forth of its own volition, before settling back down perfectly without a drop spilt. As if having his mind read, and his wineglass dance wasn't enough Frances added that they had been aware of his power since he was sixteen. They even knew what school he'd gone to, all his exam results, where he lived, all about his two brothers and family and they even knew whom his girlfriends had been. Seeing his shock Frances added not to worry and that all investigations proceeded with the utmost respect for the individual. He could even see his file if he wanted, and Dominic assured him that it was always the way to eventually make contact with those under observations, although he must confess this meeting wasn't planned and they were actually here for the boardroom ghost. Then Terry had questioned the two men relentlessly for at least an hour, they were completely open with him and he received no feeling that they were lying. This Organisation had an extensive history, but this didn't hold any interest for him, their immense knowledge and way of life did, how exciting and different and appealing. It lured him.  
  
He offered his services, by taking them to the boardroom and source of the strange goings on. It was now late and he doubted very much anyone but the security guards would be there, who would probably be shocked at his turning out to work late. Terry was now confident that this was the path he wanted to take, he had never enjoyed himself as much as this. What an adventure, the adventure you only read about in books or saw on television was his now. He felt like he'd reached out to the screen and been sucked through. No computer game could have ever held his interest as these two men had. They had returned to Terry's office and proceeded on to the boardroom.  
  
The place was fairly empty with only one or two late workers who paid little or no attention to them. He'd felt like a detective then as well, creeping along in the night, much as he was doing now. Yes, he fancied himself James Bond, smooth and attractive, a ladies man to the end and cunning trickster sneaking about after dark for a greater cause. Much to his relief the room was unlocked, he'd had a horrible worry they might have locked it.  
  
He could never forget what was to follow, how the three of them had entered the seemingly normal room. The large centre table had been set back on its legs and the chairs returned to their usual position about the mahogany. The carpets were the usual 'office' green you tended to see all around the building, and the walls were pale making the old table - which had been brought over from the previous building until a replacement was found - look out of place.  
  
For once there were working bulbs in the light sockets that chased the shadows from the corners when he hit the switch. He checked his mobile to see if it was true that no machines worked here. It was dead. He showed and explained this to Frances, and then he told about how they were lucky the bulbs were working and not exploding. He explained to them all about the items thrown about the room and the table being turned over, he aimed to please, after all he wanted these men to take him away with them when all was done. He told of how it had all started with the sightings of this strange angry looking man, and with this he was washed over with a feeling of hate.  
  
"What is it?" Dominic had asked. He could see Frances scanning him, for his thoughts or feelings no doubt.  
  
"I got the strongest sense of hatred I've ever felt." Terry had replied. "Not from either of you, but . I don't know." He felt there was a fourth presence.  
  
Frances merely nodded. This ghost, if that's what it was, really loathed human presence being anywhere near it. When he told the others they said this wasn't an uncommon cause for a haunting of poltergeist nature.  
  
"Mr Roget, I believe you are in the best position to help this being." His jaw had nearly hit the floor when Frances told him that. He wanted to say, 'No, are you mad!' But instead he'd turned to the room and addressed to the angry presence.  
  
The words he spoke were now beyond his ability to remember exactly but he knew they were written down somewhere in a file, hidden away in the deep vaults where he was now heading.  
  
He'd come to the bottom of the second staircase and down another, then across a spacious hall to the large doors. The first level basement contained mostly objects and relics and had a laboratory on the side of it. This lower level was where most the files were kept, and these were what he wanted so badly to see.  
  
After his first confrontation with a ghost, he'd pleaded with Frances to speak with his superiors for Terry's membership. When this was politely denied him, he took to hanging around the main Centre in England, which was in Yorkshire. Just when he thought all was lost to him, his job, his house and even his sanity. He'd sat practically on the doorstep for nearly a month when they finally opened the doors to him for good and accepted him on merits of his stubborn determination and how well he had dealt with the ghost, despite never having had any encounter with the supernatural before. He was flexible and brave, showing complete loyalty and devotion to the Organisation; he even obeyed all rules although on occasion he did bend them slightly.  
  
He was happy and had so far spent eleven years with this new family. They had helped him further develop his power, which had always been erratic and yes they had let him read his file, discovering that an old school friend with the talent to read minds had pointed him out when he was indeed sixteen. She had recorded in the file that:  
  
'Due to his ability to sense the feelings of those around him he cannot be lied to and must appear to his friends a majority of the time to be insecure.'  
  
She had even recorded the period where he had felt his parents wanted him gone and his girlfriend simultaneously tired of him; such a bitter memory of feeling genuinely unwanted. All of this was amplified by his power and it described him as 'in a constant depressive state.' Thankfully one of the first things the Organisation had taught him was to control this ability and enabling him to switch it on and off at his will. Since then he had confronted many more confused spirits and risen through the loose hierarchy and had travelled the field with Dominic after Frances was established in later years as chief of the British Headquarters.  
  
His 'big break' had come finally last year when Frances had believed him confident and capable for higher risk investigations.  
  
This was the excitement he always craved, the life less ordinary that he watched on the X-Files and other supernatural investigator series. His life had worth, it had meaning and the far-gone days of boredom and routine were now a distant memory. He was moved from haunting and ghost activity to the more dangerous, given a chance to show how courageous he could be, how bright he could shine. He figured that if all went well maybe one day he would hold Frances' position, maybe higher.  
  
He'd been given access to the vampire files and other artefacts that were held in the vaults, he'd even had a small team working under him. But that was gone now, that was all lost to him because he'd failed to detect the vampire in their midst, the creature who had visited with frequency and mistook - by him - for an ordinary girl.  
  
The only thing he had in his favour was that for the job he was taught how to conceal his thoughts, for these creatures were powerful mind readers, and now this was helping him pass undetected by the likes of Frances into the vaults now forbidden to him.  
  
It was her file he wanted.  
  
He needed to understand his descent, and now he descended in sweet irony the three steps down to the rows and rows of folders neatly displayed like the library within the forbidden chamber of information. Subject persons presently under observations were arranged in alphabetical order, amongst files of those who were watched centuries ago, so great was the extent of recording that he feared he'd have to find a ladder to reach what he needed.  
  
There was a section on witches, a small aisle on werewolf sightings, a majority of cases for spirit and ghost activities, which was followed by past life accounts and near death experiences. The whole place smelt of old paper and he could see the dust motes sailing past the light of many small spot lamps. The air was dry down here, obviously needed to prevent the ancient documents from rotting and deteriorating. It didn't take him long to locate the area where all the other vampire documents were stored, he'd been assuming that this new file would be with the others.  
  
It was.  
  
He was tingling with anticipation and fear of getting caught. Quickly mopping the sweat from his brow on the only thing he had to hand - his sleeve - he slipped the string bound card holder inside his shirt and proceeded with a stealthy speed that impressed himself. He spent some time closing the huge doors quietly, but he took the stairs two or three at a time. His room, like most seasoned members was in the main building on the third floor as the library and guestrooms occupied the second floor. New additions to the Arcanum started out - as Terry had done - in the many extension buildings around the huge grounds they owned.  
  
He latched the door behind him and only when he'd pulled his drape curtains and finished a sweep of the room did he set the folder down on his bed. His private chambers consisted of an en suit bathroom, spacious cupboard where he stored nearly everything, and a large main room.  
  
The main room was large enough for a four poster bed running along the wall in one corner, a grand desk place looking into the room, a single book case which Terry had never filled and comfortable chairs for when he received guests. Meals were served in one of the outhouses or on occasions brought up to his room meaning all his needs were catered for. He kept a crate of beer under his bed, where he went now for a can of Fosters, it was room temperature but then there was little he could do about that. Settling down and propping himself against the misshapen pillows he set about to read the file.  
  
To Be Continued.......... 


	2. The File of Wyntre

Disclaimer: In this chapter I do not own the character Jebadiah Brown, he is a character I chose to include from the Vampire Masquerade rule book, along with the tale of the destroyed Boston Chapter House, to better enhance my story and explain the Arcanum. Please review - I haven't had many for this story yet. You'll also have to forgive my love of Venice and understand that having been there recently I had to include it. Thank you and I hope you enjoy! *waves good bye*  
  
  
  
The File on the Vampire Wyntre  
  
Part I  
  
A brief description of the personal nature of the Vampire Wyntre.  
  
Narrated by Frances Harlyn  
  
Head of the Bristish Centre, Yorkshire.  
  
1997  
  
"Although we know from the subject's mouth that she has existed for more then a century - possibly a lot longer as her beginnings are lost to us - she has only recently become known in person to us in the Arcanum. There have been many nineteenth century photographs of Wyntre, but only two portraits (dated 1902 and 1741.) collected. There are also numerous fragment reports from early field agents at the end of the 1700's, a time when she appeared to have an impact on the community she moved to, providing ample gossip to be recorded on the flamboyant young lady of Venice. The only other time she surfaced with such spectacular effects was in Paris between 1901 and 1939 (the year before the Germans occupied France.) Here she was a known figure in Montmarte's Bohemian, socially unconventional society. She had stunned the ranks of the Fauve painters as the women who dressed as a man and painted with skill that far surpassed any known artist.  
  
But I've got ahead of myself; let me begin with the unusual nature of the old photographs. From what we now know of her personality we can clearly see it is evinced in these early pictures, and in spite of the traditional pose and many formal aspects of the work, Wyntre can be seen smiling.  
  
It can be described as her characteristic mischievous smirk of a smile, and really is rather bizarre as it is very un-conventional for one to show expressions in photographs of this time. In fact such facial expressions in photographs of this era are unknown. It is as if Wyntre found the act of photography amusing in someway. 'All' the pictures we have in our possession show the exact same thing. In all but one of the photographs she is dressed in men's attire, and our reports from both periods of study confirm that Wyntre cross-dressed, and that it was common for her to go out dressed as a man."  
  
Terry rummaged to see if these photos were included. Grinning broadly as he realised his old luck hadn't completely deserted him yet; he studied the clearer of the photos. Yes, that same face, only the picture didn't capture the strange incandescence of her eyes that made them appear to shine like polished gems. The black and white seemed to enhance the paleness of her skin and hair. She was unchanged from the picture; it was almost as if the strange visitor who cost him his position last year had walked out of the photograph into a world of colour. She was a tall broad-shouldered woman with slightly wavy hair, which appeared white in the photo but he knew was actually blond. Her hair just brushed her shoulders in length, the kind of style on people became part of their character, the way it moves with a turn of the head it's a mannerism of their personality. Her exceptional height was what allowed her to pass for a man in the old garbs; he estimated she had to be about 5'9 possibly 5'10. Dressed for an event as she was in the photo he beheld she was a fine looking gentleman who must have been desired by both men and women. And there was the most charming smile, the most bewitching look capable of entrancing all those who happen upon her.  
  
"Having had the unusual pleasure of encountering the subject it is clear she hasn't changed since the time of our oldest accounts. She could be an actress in her calculated manner of what performances to use in which situation. She can intimidate most and seduce the rest. In short she knows how to present herself to achieve her aims.  
  
Despite her powerful personality, and one I might add takes a lot to handle at times, she is competitive and challenging. From our early sources we know she likes attention, and reports show us that in Venice she held overly extravagant celebrations for all occasions and frequented the many sources of entertainment available. Although we suspect this out going nature has always been a part of her it is possible she is so extreme because she fears loneliness. This theory comes from a report on the death of a much-cherished friend in Italy, collected from a priest who was present. He was quoted as to saying 'I have never seen one so beside them- self with grief as that child perched on the deathbed of the old women. I believe the deceased to be a mere servant from the talk of the city, but now I wonder if she was the child's grandmother so splendid was her gown and residents. After all it's not a secret that that girl is the wealthiest in the area and at only seventeen, or so I'm told. Her parents died while she was young apparently leaving her a vast fortune, which she took with her from England. My theory is that was her grandmother who died after all how could any one lady that young and unmarried go about in such away. Poor child is all alone now and I doubt it'll be long before she has herself a husband to take care of everything, she already has all the men in Venezia courting her every step she takes. She needs someone too, as I left she was screaming between her sobs at the dead women, 'I can't be alone again! Don't go! Can't I find someone who will stay with me! I love you.' Poor child, that was last week and no one has seen her leave the house since, not even the servants have been allowed out.'  
  
We know the 'old woman' in question was not Wyntre's grandmother but in fact a servant lucky enough to draw close to her immortal mistress, although we are fairly certain that this lady never knew the truth of the nocturnal workings of the household.  
  
The interesting fact is these losses don't have an external impact as after enough time to grieve she seems back to her old self, and she still retains a almost childish manner in her lack of realism on occasion and stubborn refusal to submit to any kind of authority.  
  
But I cannot make a judgement to surpass our investigator Rhina Arrowsmith, who has had a great deal more experience with Wyntre then me. Rhina is quoted saying : ' She has strange ideas and dangerous plans, of course I always offer my advice, sometimes I even tell her 'no, bad idea' or 'don't go' something like that. I know she never listens to anything I say and I've told her this, her response was 'I always listen to you darling, I just don't always agree.' That's typical and probably the only predictable thing about Wyntre, she's disobedient.  
  
Even on my few meetings with her that mischievous nature is something to be considered and weary of as she is likely to do the 'fun' thing more then the sensible. But despite all this there is most definitely a deeper layer of seriousness in her, as I've said calculating and underhanded for there is no innocence in her childishness.  
  
Of course Rhina's account would be worth more then my observations as she has been Wyntre's closest friend since she was seventeen. This investigator leaves you now on the note that once we discovered what Wyntre actually was Rhina was forbidden contact with the vampire for her own safety. But refusing to honour her commitment to our rules of non-contact with potentially dangerous subjects on emotional grounds was temporally suspended and has since set up her own private investigation business here in Yorkshire until such time as the superiors believe she should return."  
  
His bitterness felt like acidic vomit in his throat, he had been responsible, he had been Head of the vampire investigations, he had had the same encounters as Frances but the Grand Superiors had chosen him to write the file instead!  
  
How in-depth he had studied everything he could on the Kindred society of past and modern nights. How he had aspired to be the greatest in this field of knowledge, how he had planned his investigations. His dreams of being the first to confront the vampires lay as a shattered mirror, all images fragmented and difficult to interpret. Of course contact was forbidden. He knew all the information he collected and relayed to the Grand Superiors of the Arcanum was again relayed to that of the modern Inquisition. Their guilt of holding such knowledge was too much to bear - apparently, and they sought to ease their collective conscience by sharing what they knew with those who had the power to punish. Terry didn't know how long this relationship between the scholars, bibliothecaries, archaeologists, epopts, Hermetic and herbalists, Kabbalists, cryptographers and students of the occult had been going on with the ancient Inquisition. Probably since mortals learnt that, sometimes, the unseen and the unknown have very sharp teeth and most unsavoury appetites. Besides every member knew that the Arcanists of 1910 learned that vampires do not like being the subject of investigation, a fact harshly emphasised by a group of Cainites' torching of the Boston Chapter house, so much loss of life and destruction of irreplaceable books and records. Oh, how they had drummed this event into him when he was first assigned to the files!  
  
Still a blind eye could not be turned, that would be complicity to genocide, surely? So why was he ordered under a oath of loyalty not to disclose any information on the delivery of help to the Inquisition. No not his place to question, the same conclusion always. None of his fellows involved qualify as fools, however, and few consider themselves warriors, so their only 'action' left was the judicious synthesis and redirection of information.  
  
Indeed Terry was completely aware of the renowned Reverend Jebediah Brown, an independent witch-hunter and former Arcanist, who still believes his ongoing theft of intelligence from Arcanum Chapter Houses still goes unnoticed! Terry had heard the Grand Superiors talk of how in truth he was but another tool in the arm chair war. Arm Chair War, How that expression had cost Terry many nights of sleep while he lay pondering on it.  
  
He couldn't allow these thoughts to distract him now, he was plotting his revenge in many respects, that was a good word for it Revenge that's what all honourable men sought in the books and movies when such a great slight was committed to them. He would learn all he could about his adversary pick at her weaknesses and have his 'revenge'. If she were devious and cunning as Frances had suggested, then he would be prepared for this. He needed to know more, if he was to confront and win he needed more.  
  
He scanned the titles of the sheets in the folder looking for something that would prove valuable. A document written by the vampire seemed to glide past his eye before he stopped shifting pages. Spreading them out before him he relocated the file that was stapled at the top corner.  
  
He'd had no idea that the Arcanum possessed such a thing in its vaults. But here it was. The note attached explained that it was a photocopy of the original, and sure enough the vampire's bold handwriting greeted him on the first page, the old-fashioned hand portraying intricate loops and an unnatural perfection. Apparently it had been written on request of Field Investigator Rhina Arrowsmith as part of her trial.  
  
Trial?  
  
Apart from the attached note it was untitled, so he began to read. 


End file.
